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You know why I've been silent the past couple of weeks what the in-laws visiting for the first time and then Rob's nearly exploding organs all over the place.

Just before the New Year and my life turned to chaos, my mother said "Ooh ooh ooh we should read this book" and then I said "Ooh ooh ooh you should read this other book" and now I don't know what book we are reading because she said "ooh ooh ooh that other book is great."

Which is my way of asking: What book are you reading?

Genetic preloading is a bitch. Life's hard enough without your brain chemistry working against you (it takes one to know one).

This is away of giving gratitude to the people who made its way to keep your post alive. I really enjoy the the article and I am inspired by it. Keep it up and continue to inspire us.

I'm reading backwards, which means I now have to write my own damn book and say "you're welcome" for reading your blog. I'm confused.

No. I am S.A.D. and Wellbutrin is being a bitch to me and I would like to log a complaint with the board of antidepressants who are nothing but teases and charlatans.

If I count the water drops that hit my head when I sit in the shower, will that clear my mind?

I want very much to be at that anniversary. May I crash it... if I can find funds to do so.

I need to find somewhere to live.

I want to win the lottery so I can specifically wave it in people-who-have-hurt-me's faces and say, "Ha! You can't have any!"

I wish chocolate didn't make me sick to my stomach... and fat.

[The previous has been brought to you by the chattering hiccups buzzing in Kirsten's brain any time she attempts meditation.]

Kirsten, Wellbutrin is indeed a total, irredeemable bitch. So are, IMHO, Paxil, Prozac, and the nearly-ubiquitous Zoloft. The board of antidepressants turned a deaf ear to my complaint, which was screamed at the top of my lungs, so I went back to the pre-SSRI magic pill that saved my life back in the day, Pamelor, aka nortriptyline.

It worked. For 7 pretty good years. Whatever "worked" means when you're talking about a brain chemistry-altering substance that doesn't get you high, but which serves chiefly to keep you alive, unharmed, and hopefully, able to experience that feeling known as happiness. But how can you even approach happy when you can't go anywhere or do anything in public without sweating so much, it looks exactly like you just ducked into wherever you are because you were caught in a freak, sudden, rainstorm of Biblical might?

So...I quit. Twenty years of antidepressants....gone. My life was stable. Nothing was happening, or changing, and I decided, with my doctor's cautious approval, to taper off and fly solo. Nothing, absolutely nothing was ever going to happen in my life that could possibly topple me from my perch of serenity and acceptance. Why not?

And I am still here, 7 months after taking my last antidepressant of any kind, and I don't even remember anymore what it was like to be on them. But my life? You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so I'll save it. Let's just say I have suffered---a lot---but I don't feel like I need to go back on them. Nor does my doctor. "Don't pathologize what has happened to you." OK then---now we're talking!

Evil, evil, evil antidepressants and their libido-robbing, sweat-producing, urination-complicating, empty promises....

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